“You miserable creature!” Rosaline continued, her blue eyes sparkling with anger. “Did you offer him shelter at first, and get him here that you might surely betray him? You are baffled, thank God; you are out-witted!” Charlot’s hands clenched and he looked at her as if she had struck him. “_Sang de Dieu_, I am innocent!” he said solemnly; “I never betrayed him. I came here to warn him, and found that he had gone. I heard it all in M. de Baudri’s rooms, and I hurried away, and by hiring a cart that I met in the road, I was at St. Cyr just five minutes before the dragoons came, and madame sent me here to keep you out of harm’s way.” “The dragoons at St. Cyr!” cried Rosaline, forgetting all else in that announcement, “and my grandmother there alone! _Dieu_, I will never forgive myself!” She ran up the bank without heeding the cobbler’s appeals. “Stay, mademoiselle!” he cried after her; “stay but a moment and listen! Ah, _Mère de Dieu_, she rushes to her fate!” He called to deaf ears; Rosaline fled through the woods like a young fawn with the dog at her heels. She took no thought of herself but only remembered her grandmother and the terrible prospect of a dragonnade at St. Cyr. The custom of quartering dragoons on families suspected of heresy was too fearfully frequent for it to be improbable, and such visitations were attended by horrible indignities; neither age nor innocence was spared, and the end generally saw the château in smoking ruins and the members of the devoted family dead or banished. All these things flashed through Rosaline’s mind as she sped--on the wings of love--toward her home, and no one could have overtaken her. The poor hunchback followed as best he could, cursing the fate that had forced him to tell her. At the gate of the château, Rosaline met Babet, who tried to stop her, but in vain; the girl ran across the garden and passed in through the side door, which the housekeeper had left open. All the while she wondered that the place seemed so deserted and that she saw no soldiers. She passed through the kitchen and dining room, and running upstairs to her grandmother’s sitting-room, flung open the door and found herself face to face with M. de Baudri. CHAPTER XVII M. DE BAUDRI’S TERMS Rosaline did not look at M. de Baudri, but beyond him into the room, and she saw her grandmother’s armchair vacant, and the door that led into the bedroom beyond stood open. The girl’s heart seemed to stop beating, yet she could not believe the evidence of her senses. “Where is she?” she demanded of M. de Baudri imperiously. “Where is Madame de St. Cyr?” He had greeted her with a profound bow and he stood now before her, smiling and composed. “Madame is on her way to Nîmes, mademoiselle,” he said pleasantly. “To Nîmes?” repeated Rosaline, with pale lips. “_Mon Dieu!_ what have you done?” Her agitation did not ruffle his composure; he still looked at her with a smile.